


Teach Me

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angel Orgasms, Angelic Grace, Batcave, Bunker Fluff, Bunker Sex, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, Clothed Sex, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Dry Humping, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Jealous Dean Winchester, Kissing, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Movie Night, Non-Penetrative Sex, Popcorn, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, casdean - Freeform, kissing school, makeout school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A movie night in the bat cave takes an unexpected turn when Castiel asks Dean for a favor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me

**Author's Note:**

> Rewritten version of an old fic of mine.

 

Dean liked old movies.

He liked the way the little glitches and scrapes would flicker across the black and white frames as they were being projected on the big screen. He liked the distortion time had given the sounds and the music on the magnetic sound print, and he liked the way the old projector buzzed and rattled when it fed the movie from one big roll of film to the other. 

At one point when they were kids their dad had taken them to a drive-in movie, just like the ones they had back in the fifties. Dean had fallen in love with the whole atmosphere of it before they had even parked. The old cars, the hot dogs and the big batch of popcorn with vinegar that he and Sam had shared—quietly for once, without even having to be told off about it. The whole moment had stuck with him as one of the few glimpses of his childhood that he remembered with genuine fondness. So when his brother had emerged from the bunker’s basement with an entire box filled with old vintage projector films, he had nearly gone into a seizure of joy. To be honest, Castiel had almost seemed worried about him there for a minute…

Dean had immediately and unmercifully declared the rest of the day a movie night. Under his command, the three of them had proceeded with moving one of the big tables in the library out of the way to make room for the chesterfield couch and two wing chairs they dragged in from the lounging area of the room. Sam and Dean helped each other carry the chairs while the angel grabbed the three-seat couch on his own; carrying it under his left arm as if it were an empty cardboard box rather than two hundred pounds of solid wood and leather. 

While Sam rigged the projector, Dean decided that now would be a brilliant idea to teach Cas how to make popcorn, and he promptly dragged Castiel with him into the kitchen. He then placed said angel in front of the stove, telling him to turn the gas on while he himself ventured through the cupboards in search of the jumbo-pack of Jiffy Pops that he had snuck in a few weeks ago.

Three minutes later the tin foil of Castiel’s Jiffy-pan caught fire. After a few frantic seconds of scrambling and swearing around the kitchen, Dean managed to relocate the aflame pan into the sink where it sizzled and churned under a cold spray of water. Castiel looked on in silence, chewing remorsefully on his bottom lips with both arms hanging sheepishly by his sides.

Deciding that the angel would do better to stay clear of the stove for the time being, Dean took out and started a new pan of popcorn by himself. Once the two servings of Jiffy-pops were done and placed in a giant bowl, they returned to the living room where Sam had efficiently laid claim on the couch while they were gone. After a few minutes of fruitless arguing back and forth Dean eventually gave up on trying to get his oversized brother to move, and settled down in the chair next to Castiel’s instead to watch the first movie of the night.

As of now they were enjoying the wonderful classic of Casablanca. The reel ticked and whirred,  the only thing disturbing the tranquility of the room being Dean occasionally reaching over to snatch a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Castiel’s grip, while Castiel—just as enthusiastically—tried to stop him. 

“Dude, stop hogging the bowl,” Dean muttered when Castiel unceremoniously moved the popcorn away, holding it just out of reach of Dean’s groping hand.

“Only if you stop stealing from it,” he shot back, both men still with their eyes intently fixed on the screen.

“Hey, I’m the one who made them in the first place. If you want your own bowl you can go scoop up the remains from the sink.”

“Why would I want to eat burnt popcorn?” Castiel objected.

“You  _ don’t _ , that’s the point, smartass.” Dean snorted. “Now hand me the bowl.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a valid argument, Dean.”

“Cas, give me the bowl.”

“No.”

“Cas, if you don’t give me the popcorn within the next three seconds, so help me, I will kick your ass.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Sam groaned from the couch. “Calm down, okay? Dean, let him have the popcorn.”

“You’re on  _ his _ side?” Dean spluttered, pointing an accusing finger at Cas who scowled at the offensive digit with a huff.

“It’s the only thing he’s showed interest in eating since he came here,” Sam pointed out. “And he’s right; if you want more popcorn you can go out and make some. I’ll stop the movie for you.”

“Traitor,” Dean muttered, but she slouched down into the chair nonetheless. Grumpily, he grabbed a new handful of popcorn when Castiel offered him the bowl, ignoring the fact that he felt like a puppy being given a treat for good behavior.

The first roll of the film ended, and Sam got up to change the projector reel so they could continue watching, during which time Dean tried—and failed—to convince Castiel that cheese-puffs were  _ way  _ better than popcorn. That the angel should use his mojo to go get himself some. Like, right now. 

When the film continued playing, Castiel was still in undisputable possession of the popcorn while Dean was staring down in disbelieved frustration at the fresh bag of cheese-puffs suddenly residing on his lap.

Twenty minutes later Sam let out a wide yawn, stretching himself out leisurely on his spot on the couch while his hands came up to drag hard through his hair.

“That’s it, I’m calling it a night, guys,” he announced, stifling another yawn behind his hand as he sat up.

“What,  _ now _ ?” Dean asked. “Dude, we haven’t even seen the best part yet!”

Sam chuckled and stood up.

“How about you tell me all about it tomorrow?” he suggested. “Right now I’m beat.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost two o’clock soon anyway.”

“You’re such a wimp,” Dean smirked, taking a swig out of his beer, but Sam just shook his head with a chuckle.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” he smiled before turning away from the screen. “Goodnight,” he called, giving them both a little wave.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Castiel answered, tearing his eyes away from the screen just long enough to catch the glimpse of Sam’s second wave before he disappeared through the doorway. The angel’s attention was startled back to current events when Dean immediately leapt forward to snatch the popcorn out of his unguarded grip, the bag of cheese-puffs hitting the floor with an undignified crunch. Dean flung himself onto the couch his brother had just given up, stretching out with a pleased grin while nursing the bowl tightly to his chest.

“What?” he asked defensively when he caught the angel’s reprimanding glare. “You’ve had your share, it’s my turn.”

Castiel pinched his lips, as if he was about to retort to that statement, but then he simply shook his head, turning his eyes back to the screen where Humphrey Bogart’s character Rick were in the middle of the famous “of all the gin joints in all the world”-line.

They continued to watch in silence, and Dean soon pulled out his third beer from the cooler they had brought in from the car, the salt from the popcorn making him thirsty. Not that he complained.

On the screen Rick Blaine were now reminiscing about his time with Lisa in Paris. The mighty sound of cannon fire came out slightly muffled through the projector’s speakers as the two lovers sat down to drink and talk by their table, waiting for the Nazis to arrive at the scene. 

Dean had seen the movie before, and he was well aware of what was coming next. When the kiss finally happened, however, Dean was snapped out of his movie-daze when he heard Castiel clear his throat and shift nervously in his chair.

“Relax dude, it’s not that kind of movie,” Dean commented teasingly without even turning his head. He could still sense the guarded flicker of eyes the angel sent him in return.

“I know that,” Castiel muttered.

“Then why the squirming?”

He had known Castiel long enough to recognize the contemplating silence that followed, knowing that the angel was taking his time considering whether or not he should explain himself. For a moment Dean truly thought that the other wasn’t actually going to answer him, but he was wrong.

“What does a kiss taste like?”

The question caught him off guard, having suspected the inquiry to regard something far more PG-rated. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to compose an answer. Bringing his bottle to his lips he gave a halfhearted shrug, trying to act and sound casual when he spoke.

“You’ve forgotten about your tongue-wrestle with Meg already?” he asked politely, swallowing the acid taste the memory brought to the back of his throat down with a mouthful of beer. “You looked pretty familiar with kissing to me.”

He was well aware of the testy tone that snuck its way into his voice when he added the last part, though he had no idea where it had come from. The thought of Meg kissing Cas—No, of  _ Castiel _ kissing  _ Meg _ —still made his skin crawl, and caused his fingers to itch in spite of the fact that she had turned out to be not completely bad in the end.

They had never talked about it, even though Dean was dying to know what in the name of creation could have possibly urged an angel to kiss a demon in the first place. Seeing as she was now dead, though, Dean had not had the heart to bring it up. Castiel had  _ cared _ for Meg, probably in a way and for reasons that neither Dean, nor Sam would ever be able to understand. The angel had mourned her death when he found out about what happened while Dean and him were inside Lucifer’s crypt, and the very notion of the amount of affection that hinted at made Dean feel  _ furious _ , still without knowing exactly why.

On the screen the couple had since long stopped kissing, and the movie played on as if nothing had happened, but the mood in the bunker’s library was substantially different. Dampened, as if he and Cas had been fighting just now, and that was another thing in a long line of things that confused and scared Dean more than he’d like to admit.

“It tasted like ash.”

Dean was snapped out of his own thoughts by the low rumble of Castiel’s voice.

“What?” he blinked, finally tearing his eyes off the screen to look at Cas properly. Castiel sighed, turning his eyes to the hands in his lap.

“The kiss,” he clarified. “It tasted like ash. And dust,” he added, a light grimace tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh…” Dean mumbled, because yeah, his brain couldn’t come up with a better answer at the moment. Two blue eyes slowly turned to glance at him briefly before quickly darting back to the movie.

“I didn’t like it,” the angel declared firmly, his jaws clenching as if the mere memory made him want to hurl. “Humans kiss all the time, for different reasons, but that wasn’t particularly pleasant… It was hard, and uncomfortable and… our teeth clashed. I bruised my lip and it was nothing like—“ he cut himself off with a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I could taste Hell on her,” he muttered wryly, sounding as if that explained everything, which in all honestly, it did. “I could sense the blood, and the smoke, and the agony that resided beneath the surface of her flesh, and it was not what I had expected. I think that I was— That I did it  _ wrong _ , somehow…”

On the couch Dean was trying his best to pick his jaw up from the floor, his mouth moving, opening and closing without sound for a few seconds as he grappled for the words, completely thrown by this sudden blast of honesty coming from the other chair.

“Well…” he murmured eventually, swallowing hard. “What can I say, it definitely sounds like a crappy kiss, dude.”

“So I  _ was _ doing it wrong?” Castiel asked, the utter dismay in his voice making Dean’s heart cringe.

“Nah, I wouldn’t say wrong, but… I mean, you were kissing  _ Meg, _ ” he clarified, trying his best to make it sound as an explanation instead of the accusation he could feel was trying to worm its way into the sentence. 

“I know…” Castiel half winced, his eyes darting towards the floor at the same time as Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait, you didn’t actually want to?” the hunter gaped. “Then why the hell did you do it?”

“I’m not entirely sure…” the other male admitted sheepishly, “I suppose I was curious?”

“And out of all the people in all the world, you chose to make out with a  _ demon _ ?” 

“At the time it was either her, Sam or you,” Castiel reminded him pointedly. Dean huffed, feeling an indignant little spark go off inside his chest, right next to his ego.

“So you’re saying I’m not good enough to kiss?” he demanded defensively.

“I didn’t say that,” Castiel objected.

“Just no better than a demon?” he probed testily. Castiel sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if begging for strength before he turned to look at the human, head slightly tilted.

“Would you have liked me to kiss you instead?” he asked, sounding downright exasperated, and Dean’s mouth snapped shut so hard he felt his teeth clatter. Damn it, that question had actually struck a little bit too close to home, and the realization that his thoughts didn’t respond to the suggestion with disgust or repulsiveness made him want to get up and bolt straight out of the room.

A hasty image of himself, pressed up against a wall in some dirty warehouse corridor with Castiel’s breath hot on his lips crashed through his head. It was immediately followed by a close to painful flash of heat that seared its way through his lower regions, and holy shit… holy shit, what the fuck was he even  _ thinking _ ?!

He didn’t realize that the angel had spoken his name until he looked up and found Castiel staring him down, a look of worry and something else, something elusive that Dean couldn’t name floating just beneath the surface of those blue eyes. Dean swallowed, moisturizing his suddenly dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Did I say something inappropriate?” Castiel asked and Dean shook his head.

“No, no it’s fine.” Dean assured him, taking another drink—fuck no, not a drink. A goddamn  _ gulp _ —from the bottle in his hands, almost emptying the whole thing in one go while Castiel’s gaze continued to drill a hole through the side of his face. 

“Dean…”

Reluctantly Dean turned his head towards the sound of his own name, coming face to face with Castiel. The other’s features looked almost sympathetic as those eyes held on and locked him in place, making it impossible to look away. Dean was sure that even if Sam was asleep already, the sound of Dean’s own heartbeat surely would be loud enough to wake his brother up again.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed for a moment, a split second where everything in the room seemed to shrink, pressing in against Dean’s sides and tethering him to the couch as that eerie x-ray vision crept inside his skull and swept through fucking  _ everything _ . It took only a fragment of a second before it was gone, and Castiel blinked, looking away.

_ Fuck _ . 

Dean swallowed, the lack of moisture in his mouth making the movement of his throat burn. Then Castiel raised his head, eyes gleaming with something that made Dean’s legs shake in spite of him already sitting down. 

“Teach me.”

To anyone else it might have sounded like an order, a command, but Dean knew better. This was a request, an honest to God  _ request, _ and Jesus, this was  _ Cas _ asking him this… 

He wanted to come up with a clever comeback; to give a snappy response that possibly held some sort of movie reference that would turn the tables of the situation and make the angel feel as confused as Dean felt at the moment. He opened his mouth, the perfect line already balancing on the tip of his tongue.

“How?” is what he heard himself say. 

Castiel tilted his head, just a tad bit to the left before he responded in a voice so calm it could have stopped a tornado dead in its tracks. 

“Show me.”

Dean tried to swallow, but this time the muscles in his throat wouldn’t let him. Castiel didn’t move, just kept watching and waiting patiently as if knowing what kind of internal battle Dean was currently having with his emotions. Dean stared down at the bowl of popcorn resting in his lap, his gaze losing itself in the half-eaten mass of white before him.

There was not a doubt in his mind that Castiel knew exactly what he had just asked Dean to do. The request might have sounded innocent all on its own, but for god’s sake…!  There was a goddamn angel sitting next to him, asking for instructions on how to fucking steal first base and how was he even supposed to respond to such a thing?!

His head was spinning and he had to close his eyes, willing himself to relax and not freak out. Damn, Sam would be laughing his ass off at this. He took a moment to thank his lucky stars that his brother had decided to leave them alone.

A thought swiveled into his brain at that, and he found himself wondering that if Sam hadn’t left… If he had stayed, would Castiel still have brought this up? Would he have been able to ask the same thing of Sam, being fine with confiding his concerns to either one of them, or was he asking this of Dean specifically because they  _ were _ , in fact, alone?

The possibility brought a giddy warmth to burst inside his chest, but it turned chilly just as quickly as he realized that the thought of being specially selected for this made him  _ happy _ . He knew enough about himself to understand that being elected Teacher of All Male Make-Out School wasn’t something he’d usually feel that enthusiastic about.

Still, better him than some skanky hellspawn, and after all it was just a kiss. Nothing worse than that. Besides, girls did this all the time, teaching each other how to kiss. Right? And it wasn’t as if anyone would have to find out about it; if Dean asked him, Castiel would keep quiet, surely…? 

His fingers twitched against the near empty bottle in his hands, and suddenly he felt terrified of his own thought process. This was crazy. Kissing Castiel… teaching an  _ angel _ how to kiss, and a guy at that, how was he supposed to— 

Taking a deep breath, sucking so much air into his lungs it made his ribs ache, he placed his beer bottle on the floor and straightened up, crossing his legs on the cushion beneath him.

“Alright, sit down,” he murmured, nodding towards the now free space on the couch where his legs had been a second ago. Castiel stood up, unfolding his body from the chair. When he crossed the distance to the couch, he did it with a cautious gracefulness that Dean couldn’t decide was breathtakingly beautiful or downright terrifying. 

Probably a little bit of both.

Castiel sat down, feet still touching the floor and his torso turned towards Dean. Dean swallowed, his hands tightening slightly around the bowl of popcorn that he was now unconsciously holding in between them like a shield.

“Alright…” he breathed, hoping that the angel couldn’t hear the nervous croak that threatened to tear through his vocal chords. He allowed himself a quick glance at the angel’s posture, taking in the stiff shoulders and strained angle of the other’s body.

“First…” he decided. “You need to loosen up a little.” He gestured towards Castiel with a wave of his hand, and Castiel followed the motion, looking down upon himself with a quizzical frown.

“The shoulders, dude,” Dean winced. “Relax, or it’s going to be like kissing a plank.”

The frown on Castiel’s forehead deepened as the angel seemed to consider this metaphor for a moment. Then his shoulders dropped, the tension in his muscles melting away as he shifted in his seat, adapting a more, at least seemingly so, relaxed position.

“Better?” he asked, suddenly sounding nothing like the angel Dean had grown so accustomed to. The voice directed towards him now was low, insecure and all in all heart-wrenchingly adorable.

“Yeah, yeah, much better,” Dean nodded, still gripping the bowl for all he was worth. If he just kept his hands right where they were this might not be so bad. If he could just keep his hands  _ right where they were _ .

He swallowed, for the millionth time–really, Dean, dammit, get a grip!–and cleared his throat.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics…” he rasped. Castiel nodded once, hard in agreement, but didn’t make any other indication to move. Dean realized with a pang of dread that he would actually have to give the angel specific  _ instructions _ , because Cas was obviously not rushing headfirst into anything this time.

“First thing you need to do…” he began, keeping his tone firm and professional, for his own sanity’s sake. “…is to wet your lips. Not too much, but you don’t want the person who’s kissing you to feel as if they’re kissing a piece of sandpaper.”

Castiel’s tongue obediently darted out to swipe across his lower lip, leaving a faint shimmer of saliva in its wake that Dean quickly told himself was not in the slightest way exciting.

“Good…” he grated. “Good, now close your eyes.”

The frown came back almost as quickly as it had disappeared the last time, and Dean rolled his eyes, barely managing to suppress a groan.

“Dude, you don’t kiss with your eyes open.” 

“Why not?” Castiel objected.

“Because staring at someone while they have their tongue in your mouth is rude, that’s why,” Dean bit back and Castiel nodded, though Dean was sure that it was just something he did to please him. Castiel may have come a long way, but the whole respect-people’s-personal-space-and-quit-the-creepy-soul-staring hadn’t quite stuck with him yet.

“Now close them,” Dean repeated, harsher. Castiel did as he was told with a low sigh, but he was still scowling as if he thought the whole thing was a completely unnecessary gesture. Just like that, Dean suddenly found himself face to face with an Angel of the Lord, whom was currently waiting for him to land a big fat one on his mouth. Oh my…

His heart was hammering an increasingly rapid staccato against his ribcage, and the plastic bowl pressing against the palms of his hands was turning clammy. He couldn’t believe he had actually agreed to do this. God, he couldn’t believe he was actually going to  _ do _ this!

Recalling his own lesson about kissing and sandpaper he licked his lips, stifling a low groan when he watched Castiel unknowingly mimic the gesture, a new coat of shining moisture layering itself over those full, plump lips. Suddenly hyper aware of the way the angel was resting his hands on his own thighs, fingers spread like sea stars just above his knees, Dean found himself unexpectedly struggling to breathe. He could feel his own hands as they began to tremble—a delicate shiver that travelled up his arms and settled along the length of his spine like a miniature earthquake.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, his usually so low voice sounding high-pitched and worried in response to Dean’s silence.

“Alright, alright, just give me a second,” Dean muttered. Castiel’s frown deepened.

“Is this waiting considered… customary?” 

Dean gritted his teeth—count on that  _ he _ would get stuck with the impatient student—and he sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening that Sammy wouldn’t be coming back down anytime soon. He leaned forward, his own eyes closing while his hands gripped around the popcorn bowl as if it  was a life raft.

Castiel didn’t move when Dean’s lips brushed against his, but Dean felt the sharp rush of air that was pulled in through the angel’s nose before being breathed out again, slow and dazed.

It wasn’t much of a kiss. Just a slow press, lip to lip, but it was more than enough to send a violent stir through Dean’s insides, raising a storm of butterflies the size of airplanes in his gut that made him want to whimper for a whole flood of different reasons.

When he pulled back, far too late and far too soon all at once, it took everything he had to force his eyes open again to look at the angel sitting in front of him. When Castiel finally opened his own eyes, blinking slowly he looked… well, he looked…  _ disappointed _ .

“That’s it?” Castiel asked, sounding as if he was calling Dean out on a bluff or something. That same flare next to Dean’s ego from before lit up again, only this time it felt more like a bonfire than a mere spark.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Dean demanded, straightening up abruptly. Castiel shrugged, lowering his head.

“I just thought… I mean, I expected there to be something  _ more _ .”

Dean’s jaw clenched, those flames awakening something raw and competitive inside him that he didn’t have the time to question or figure out the meaning of. There was nothing wrong with his kisses, how  _ dared _ he?

“Something more?” he repeated, voice low and dangerous, his shoulder squaring when the damn angel had the audacity to  _ shrug _ , and alright, that was  _ it _ !

Shoving the bowl to the side he leaned in and caught Castiel by the lapels of his shirt, yanking him forwards again with a rough tug. The kiss he pressed against the angel’s lips this time was still slow, but it was rougher,  _ harder, _ and Dean made sure to pour every ounce of the offended heat raging through him into it. Castiel gasped when Dean dipped his tongue inside the angel’s mouth, just a quick teasing swipe. He almost smirked in spite of himself when he felt Castiel’s lips open up against his in a breathless invitation for more, one Dean ignored in favor of tightening his grip around the white shirt in his hands.

When they finally pulled apart for the second time they were both breathing heavily, sucking air into lungs that practically screamed for oxygen. Dean noted with triumph that Castiel looked close to cross-eyed when he opened his eyes to look at him, his mouth still open and lips shining from the mix of their joined saliva. 

“See?” Dean breathed, and Jesus, when did his voice turn this side of raw? “Better than some old demon chick, right?”

Castiel nodded, licking his lips with an affirmative groan. It was a sound that made whatever in charge of reasonable thinking inside Dean’s head snap, his entire brain abruptly deciding that “oh what the hell” was the most appropriate direction to go for. His body moved before his conscious did, latching his mouth over the angel’s once more with a low snarl that he wasn’t even sure of how he produced in the first place.

Castiel made a startled sound of surprise against his lips. He caught himself against Dean’s shoulders as Dean dragged him in, fingers tightening in the dark grey fabric of Dean’s t-shirt as the angel allowed the human entrance to his mouth without protest.

It was faster this time; a needy sort of hunger that weaved itself through the kiss. The word ‘passionate’ sprung to the surface so fast and with such clarity it made Dean’s breath hitch.

Dean moved a hand from the angel’s collar and up, his fingers dragging to card through dark strands of hair, making Castiel shiver, and his blood boiled like hot water in a kettle when the angel let out a quiet, breathless moan into the kiss.

_ Didn’t make that sound when you kissed her, _ he thought victoriously, the content sense of accomplishment that had been creeping up on him since the moment his mouth first made contact with Castiel’s lips spiking with such force it left him lightheaded. 

Castiel was warm against him, the heat of his skin radiating off of his body in pulsing waves, and Dean wanted it closer, wanted to soak in that heat until he could feel it against every single part of his body. Castiel was kissing  _ him _ , kissing him with  _ passion, _ and no one, angel nor demon, would ever be able to make him let go of that knowledge!

Cas may have  _ chosen _ to kiss Meg—there was nothing Dean could do to change the fact that the angel’s first kiss would forever belong to that smug piece of hell-filth—but this, this right here was  _ his.  _ It was with a start that he realized that the poisonous throb that had been seething through his veins at the very mention of Meg’s name all this time had been  _ jealousy _ .

It made him wonder if he would have felt any different, had Castiel chosen to kiss someone other than her, but the thought didn’t soothe him the slightest. In fact, the idea made him feel sick to his stomach; that just  _ anyone _ would do. Anyone besides  _ him. _

No, he would not have that. Not when Castiel was currently grappling at his shoulders and moaning breathy little noises into his mouth the way he did, no way.

It could be jealousy, protectiveness or something worse, something  _ more _ , he didn’t care. All that existed right now was the way Castiel’s mouth moved against his, the angel’s breath rushing hot and heavy down his lungs, and holy fucking shit, did the guy pick up fast!

Castiel was indeed a quick learner, and it didn’t take long before the lazy groping of the angel’s hands turned insistent, pushing at Dean’s shoulders until they were both sprawled out on top of the couch. Still kissing and breathing heavily through their noses in order not to have to break apart. 

Dean’s left hand was still toying with Castiel’s hair while the other was slowly working its way down the angel’s front, slipping across the edge of a white collar and down to splay over the hard beat of a heart that made Dean’s insides quiver. Above him Castiel shifted, his left knee moving up to balance his weight better. Dean’s hips bucked out of their own accord when the thick muscle of the other’s thigh pressed in between his already parted legs, a ragged moan ripping itself out of his throat.

Castiel, who apparently was under the impression that what he did was something bad, moved to pull away, but Dean’s grip around the nape of the angel’s neck tightened. His fingers fisted the front of the angel’s shirt to drag him down at the same time as Dean ground his own hips down and up, tearing a startled gasp out of Castiel who broke the kiss to bury a moaning whimper against the human’s neck.

Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s midsection to keep him in place, hips thrusting lazily while he moved his lips down to suckle at a spot right below the lobe of Cas’ ear, releasing a shaky moan when he felt the hard jut that pressed down against his own leg in return.

Experimentally, he ground his body up, focusing the pressure on the spot where Castiel slotted up against him. The hands that had been gripping around his shoulders this whole time suddenly  _ squeezed _ when Castiel let out a strangled groan, the angel’s breath hot and moist against his skin as Cas’s hips stuttered down, meeting the thrust of Dean’s pelvis in a helpless, instinctive motion.

It all went downhill from there. Clinging to each other with their fingers digging into fabric, mouths sliding over skin in frantic search of lips while they rutted against one another, the pleasure wrung out from between their bodies soon began to feel close to numbing. 

Dean couldn’t think, didn’t want to either, because the only thing of importance was to find the right angle, that specific amount of pressure that would bring them both the most amount of friction. He shifted beneath the angel’s weight, trying his best to coax that enticing sound out of Castiel’s throat once again.

He felt like a fucking teenager, the thrill of rubbing himself against the ridge of Castiel’s thigh bringing a vicious shiver to his limbs. Even the overhanging threat of Sam walking in on them like this made his pulse race, the prospects of being caught both hot and terrifying all at once.

Nuzzling the edge of Castiel’s collar, he licked a long, wet swipe over the side of the angel’s throat, suckling a bruising hickey right next to the other’s jugular. He didn’t give two silent fucks if the mark would still be there for Sam to see in the morning, because the garbled groan Castiel gave in response to his ministrations made it all worth it. 

The angel’s blunt fingernails scratched across the front of his t-shirt, dragging hard across a nipple through the fabric and Dean arched, hissing against Cas’ jawline. Then the bastard continued to shove his hand underneath the hem of Dean’s clothing, immediately bringing them back up to roll the already hardened nub between the pads of his fingers.

Dean growled something incoherent through his teeth, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say with it himself, but the tell-tale hitch of Castiel’s breath informed him that apparently it had been something good. He proceeded by fisting his own fingers harder in the angel’s hair, smashing their lips together with an impatient snarl.

The pace had begun to grow frantic, the heat in Dean’s crotch seemingly hot enough to burn straight through their clothing. The pleasure was licking its way along his insides in a way that was so sweet, so desperately raw and out of control it made him feel as if his entire body was on fire.

Castiel’s kisses had turned open mouthed and sloppy, his pants and breathless moans seemingly increasing in time with his draining, angelic composure. Dean thought he could hear broken bits and pieces of his own name catch at the tip of the other’s tongue; syllables that seemed to tremble and fall apart in time with the erratic rocking of their bodies, and sweet mother of God, if Dean had known that Cas was capable of such sounds…!

As if on cue the angel let out a loud, gut wrenchingly arousing noise into their kiss before abruptly pulling away. Breathing hard, he leaned his head heavily against Dean’s shoulder, as if bracing himself, and Jesus, Dean had completely forgotten about the whole still-being-a-virgin-thing. Castiel looked as if he was mere seconds away from spilling inside his own trousers, and as hot as that thought was, Dean wasn’t ready to let it all be over just yet; he still wanted  _ more _ .

Releasing his grip on the angel’s midsection he reached down between them. Tearing at the buttons of his jeans to undo them, he felt a vicious shudder travel through Castiel’s body when his knuckles brushed against the fly of the dark slacks in his way. Thrusting his hand inside his boxer he managed to free his erection from its confinements, and he heard Castiel gasp, freezing up at the sight of Dean’s length lying thick and dark against the skin of the human’s belly.

Dean licked his lips, a nervous pang going off in the center of his gut when he realized that maybe whipping your dick out in the middle of a heavy make-out session wasn’t the most subtle thing to do. The thought was quickly chased away when the angel released a breathless groan right next to his ear, causing the heavy swell of Dean’s organ to twitch in response.

“Touch it,” Castiel growled, his voice hot and raw where it snaked itself into his ear. Dean’s eyes widened when the angel lifted himself up, supporting himself on his arms in order to  _ see, _ and holy fucking shit, that was  _ kinky _ !

Obediently, Dean moved his hand, gripping himself tightly. He tilted his head back as the first stroke of his fingers smoothed down the length of him, knowing that Castiel was watching his every move.

He was already leaking, the clear liquid at the tip of his erection smearing as he jerked himself off with steady strokes, feeling the pleasure tingle at the base of his spine. Above him Castiel was shaking, his fingers fisted in the leather of the armrest above Dean’s head while his hips continued to move in tiny, convulsive twitches against nothing but thin air. His eyes kept darting between Dean’s face and his cock, as if he had trouble deciding which one he wanted to look at the most.

When Dean added a slight twist to the upstroke of his wrist the angel whimpered, his lower body stuttering. Before Dean really had the time to think about what he was doing, he had released his own erection in favor of dragging his fingers over the front of Castiel’s dark suit pants instead.

This time the sound that fell from Castiel’s lips was most definitely a stuttered version of his name, and Dean hesitated, knowing that he should probably be asking permission before he did anything else.  But Castiel just groaned, pushing closer and thrusting into the palm of Dean’s hand, and if that wasn’t a sign of permission, then nothing would ever be.

With fingers trembling and a breath that stuttered in his throat, Dean undid the zipper of Castiel’s slacks, reaching through the opening to push the undergarments out of the way. When his hand finally found and closed around the angel’s member Castiel hung his head down, letting out a sobbing moan against Dean’s temple.

Dean moved, dragging his palm over the velvety soft surface in his hand in a slow, revering stroke before tightening his grip. He heard the leather above his head creak when Castiel’s fingers dug into the couch. Looking up, he found that the angel had his eyes closed and teeth gritted, as if bracing himself for something that could be both pain and pleasure alike. Dean decided that if the other was going to keep that face, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be out of discomfort.

He explored slowly, changing the pace of his hand and the pressure of his fingers in order to find the perfect combination of both, mapping out and memorizing every single sweet spot he could locate until Castiel was fighting to keep himself from writhing beneath the intensity of each touch. The angel was gasping, silent whimpers and noises escaping him in spite of his valiant attempts to bite them back. As if he was afraid to make any sounds above that of the soft moans that whispered past his lips. 

I was  _ hot _ . the desperation radiating off his body like a scent; thick and heavy in the space between them, and Dean  _ loved it _ . His soul was practically swimming in the thrill of wringing such reactions from the male form above him. There was sweat beading at Castiel’s temples, and the arms that were keeping the angel up had begun to shake, a fine tremble that travelled all the way down to the very couch they were lying on. When the head of Dean’s cock bobbed up to accidentally brush against the angel’s own, Castiel slumped down onto one elbow with a choked groan. 

“Hey…” Dean breathed, moving his thumb in shallow swipes over the tip of the erection lying heavy in his hand. “You okay?”

“ _ Yes _ … y-yes I’m—” Castiel’s voice broke into a ragged shudder at the same time as his hips ground down to press flush against Dean’s stomach, making Dean groan when his own cock rubbed hard against the rough material of the angel’s pants.

“Fuck…! Wait… wait, hold on…” 

Cas made a keening sound, as if to wait was the last thing he ever wanted to do, but when Dean pushed at his hip to give him some space to move he did so obediently. Castiel opened his eyes to look down the length of their bodies when Dean guided him closer to slot them together, using a long lick over the palm of his hand to slicken the way.

“Like this…” Dean murmured, and Castiel nodded, frantic and dazed with eyes swaying down to half-mast when an instinctive thrust of his body made them slide against each other in the tight passage of Dean’s hand.

Dean groaned again, couldn’t help himself when Castiel started to move. The angel answered with a similar sound that sent sparks flashing behind Dean’s eyelids, causing his body to jerk and thrust up. 

“Cas…!”

The name slipped from his lips before he could stop it, but again Castiel simply nodded and moaned, the bump of the angel’s cock as it slid over the frenulum of Dean’s own sending Dean onto a spiraling vortex of feelings he didn’t even know he was capable of having.

Castiel breath quickly grew ragged; each drag of air strung out and tearing between a groan and a whimper. His eyes struggled to stay focused on the spot where they kept rutting against each other, hips stuttering and breaths catching. His fingers curled hard against Dean’s chest, and Dean knew that the angel was about to come long before it happened as the room filled up with a force, thick and loaded in a way which rivaled that of a tropic thunderstorm.

Castiel’s body tensed, his eyes screwing shut. He buried his face against the nape of Dean’s neck, screaming, actually  _ screaming _ his release into the fabric of Dean’s shirt with a desperation so intense it made Dean’s heart stop dead in his chest. The walls around them shook from a single, physical pulse that Dean could feel travel through the room like a shockwave; the wind before the nuclear blast, and when the true force of the angel’s climax struck he was suddenly terrified that he wouldn’t survive it. That there was no way that he, as a human, would be able to ride something like that out and live to tell the tale. 

The library exploded without sound, without movement, but the sheer force that rippled through it would surely have been enough to level an entire city with the ground. When Dean felt the mess of Castiel’s come dribble over his fist to smear, hot and slick all over the head of his own cock, he broke. His orgasm hit him with the force of a runaway freight train, sending him flying over the edge so hard his mind almost blacked out when he let go of the last fraying piece of his self-restraint.

His body locked up, his toes curled, and his head threw back. Jesus, he could feel himself get torn apart, the pleasure rising to a point where he was convinced it would set him on fire, and Castiel was still moving, still thrusting against him and it was too much, too much but not close to enough, oh sweet Jesus…!

When his vision came back, and the room regained its original shape around him once more, he felt as if he had been cleansed by a lightning bolt. He slumped down onto the cushions, his pulse racing through every single corner of his body in an alarming speed, and he registered that somewhere far away Castiel was gasping for greedy breaths of air against his ear; making his skin prickle and coaxing shivers of pleasure to run wild up and down his spine.

He opened his mouth to speak, but seeing that the only sound he could produce was a strangled whimper he closed it again, waiting for his heart to slow down enough for him to hear himself think at least.

“So…” he gulped once his throat decided to work again, suppressing another violent tremble of his limbs. “That kiss good enough for you?”

The angel’s response was a low wince and shuddering breath of hot air. Dean chuckled, grimacing as he pulled his hand out from between their bodies, leaving a smear of semi-white mess behind on their clothes. He spent about five seconds trying to locate something to wipe himself off with, but then he gave up, using the unsoiled patches of his own t-shirt to rid himself of the slickness.

Castiel was still lying draped over him when he finished, the other male’s weight heavy and lax on his chest, though unfamiliar as it was Dean found that he didn’t really want that weight to move. It didn’t take long before the hand he held draped on the angel’s lower back was moving in small, soothing circles over the fabric of the other’s shirt as their breathing slowly fell back into a calm, steady rhythm.

“That was… not what I expected,” Castiel murmured eventually, and Dean snorted out a low laugh.

“Dude, tell me about it,” he rasped. “Hope you got the general idea of it, though?”

“Yes, I—” Castiel cleared his throat. “I think I managed to grasp the concept, yes.”

“Good…” Dean nodded. “That’s great.”

He looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the other to say something else.

“I liked it,” the angel confessed after another few seconds of silence, his voice as sincere as ever, and Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah… yeah, me too,” he breathed and really, as if his ruined shirt wasn’t proof enough. 

Of course, he didn’t want to think about what the angel would tell him next.

The lesson was obviously over, and he knew that he shouldn’t be clinging to the feeble, imaginary glimmer of hope that his mind was tempting him with. He also knew that two hours ago he wouldn’t even have acknowledged that glimmer’s mere existence, but he couldn’t help himself. Like a moth drawn to light, he knew that he would only end up hurting himself if he didn’t pull away now before it was too late. He sighed, closing his eyes against the sudden burn at the corners of his vision.

The lesson was over. He should let it go.

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again,” Castiel continued, voice hushed against his neck, and Dean’s eyes snapped open so fast he almost got whiplash in his eyelids.

“Again?” he asked, his voice suddenly weak and brittle.

“Yes,” the angel confirmed solemnly. “That is… unless it would make you uncomfortable?” he added, voice tinged with concern.

“No,” Dean objected, attempting to blink away the shock from his mind. “No, I… I think— I think I would like that too.”

Castiel shifted against his chest, settling closer while letting out something in between a pleased moan and a tired sigh before growing still. Dean didn’t know what else to do, so he stayed where he was, his arms still circled around the body on top of him while his brain struggled to catch up with what just happened. Slowly, so slowly he barely noticed it himself, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a tilted, half dazed smile.

“Actually…” Castiel said suddenly, and Dean could literally  _ hear _ the calculated frown on his face. 

“Actually, what?” he asked, trying to keep the smile from being heard in his voice.

“I don’t think I understood that first part as clearly as I would have liked…” Castiel confessed, sounding utterly remorseful and apologetic.

Dean almost bought it.

“You didn’t, huh?” he asked slowly.

“No,” the angel admitted. “I think… I think I might have to try that again.”

“Is that so…?” Dean mused.

“Yes.”

Dean gave the angel a nudge, urging him to look up at him. Then he pressed a slow, soft kiss against the angel’s lips, and he utterly failed to hold back his grin when he heard the soft, content sigh Castiel let out in response when he pulled back again.

“Better?” he whispered sweetly.

“Barely…” Castiel answered impatiently before he leaned in, stealing a new kiss from Dean’s lips.

_ Didn’t understand, my ass _ , Dean thought smugly. He didn’t pull away, allowing Castiel to slip his tongue back inside his mouth in slow, lazy licks that made his brain melt, because this was  _ Castiel _ kissing  _ him _ , and damn him if he ever wanted it to be any other way ever again.

An hour later, when the film in the projector slipped off the feeding reel with a faint snap, lighting up the screen with a blinding, white light they were both still lying on the couch. The remaining popcorns were scattered across the couch and floor, originating from the tipped over bowl at the bottom of their feet. 

Dean’s arms were still tightly wrapped around Castiel’s waist as he slept, the other man resting quietly on top of his chest while the mellow sound of Dean’s breathing ghosted through the hair on the top of the angel’s head.

Two blue eyes shifted slowly to glance at the whirring machine on the table, and the projector obediently turned itself off, leaving the room wrapped in a velvety soft darkness.

Castiel closed his eyes, snuggling closer to the man beneath him, smiling when Dean possessively tightened his grip around his body with a content sigh.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it ^^  
> Have an awesome day! <3


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